Let Me Burn
by Shadows of a Dream
Summary: "I hate me, Carth. I hate me." A young Jedi has learned the truth of her identity - she is Darth Revan. She has to face who she was, who she is, and who she will become. Thankfully, Carth hasn't forgotten her. CarthXLightSide-FemRevan. Canon/complete/R&R
1. Nightmares

I blinked once, twice, but the image before me would not fade.

The skies of Telos IV were raining fire. From the surface, it looked as though the clouds themselves had blazed up like paper. The system's horizon was orange and yellow, dancing violently with flame and repeatedly, spasmodically flashing with the constant blasterfire from the cannons of the _Leviathan. _The plasma bolts that struck buildings flared up in huge starbursts of synthetic blood-shine that sent jagged pieces of metal and iron and durasteel blasting apart in all directions, as if the skyscrapers themselves were massive grenades, scattering rubble and shrapnel. Then the fire would dull, solidifying, coming to a point. The energy dust would fade into the atmosphere. And there would be individual, distinct fires everywhere in the vicinity of the preceding explosion, swallowing what little was left of the home or store or hotel that had just been destroyed.

The flaming sky soon darkened to a smoky black. Even the sun was invisible, eclipsed by the power of the Sith fleet.

Windows crashed in with piercing cracks, sending fragments of transparisteel tumbling down to the ground below. In the wake of the destruction, everyone was running. There were so many species – Aqualish, Gamorrean, Human, Ithorian, Rodian, Sullustan, Twi'lek, Quarren, Zeltron – all running for their lives. There were families, too. Men. Women. Children. Everyone was tripping over each other, fighting their way through the throng and the rubble and the fires. It was like the spirits of the Underworld. Lost, confused, and desperately trying to _just get out of this hell_.

One little girl stumbled over a chunk of one of the ruined buildings. She screamed. A little boy, probably her brother from the look of him, stopped dead in his tracks. He wheeled around, moving like lightning, and in seconds he was beside her, panting. He grabbed her by the hand. "Run! Now!"

There was a horrible, ear-splitting, all-consuming bang from above them, followed by a grating screech. A huge column of light and heat blocked out the world as the skyscraper above exploded. There was too much smoke – the two siblings were gone from view. But it seemed impossible that they could have survived.

The smoke turned more intense. I struggled to see something, anything, through the haze so thick, it looked as though death itself had settled over the universe.

Then the smoke cleared, but I was somewhere else: the bridge of the _Leviathan_.

The transparisteel viewport cut the glare of the bombardment enough to see through the constant blasterfire from the ship's cannons. From here, the planet was one huge firework, sending quick showers of sparks up from the surface.

Standing with arms crossed and fists clenched on the tip of the _Leviathan's _bridge, a soldier named Saul Karath stared out the viewport with eyes that burned at the planet below. He could have been made of stone, if not for the fury in his eyes. His face looked as if it were chiseled from granite, his mouth carved into a tight, wordless line; his stance was solid, even commanding, but scraped clean of emotion.

The ideal Sith – purified of his inner flames, and using them to burn others instead.

Saul's bonesfelt heavy, as though they had doubled in weight since the attack on Telos IV had first begun. He watched in silence while the planet beneath became a junk pile of bodies that would never move again, homes that would never be rebuilt, blood that flowed like water. He unlocked the chains around his heart and let the raw heat run through his veins, up through his chest, into his lungs, and then up into his eyes.

They blazed like twin torches.

I felt a savage need for retribution within me, a driving desire to kill him before he allowed one more second of this. And help those people down there, those poor, terrified people, those innocent families, dying...

I fought to control my emotions. I tried to avert my eyes – but found them locked immovably upon Saul.

Was I going insane, or was he getting nearer? Was I – walking _towards _him? I couldn't feel my limbs. Moving on phantom legs – legs not my own – I approached Saul with brisk, sharp strides.

"Greetings, Lord Revan," Saul said with a start, and saluted me.

_Revan? _My heart stopped, so fast, just like that. I wanted to turn and search for the Sith, but I was still immobile.

"Your apprentice – Lord Malak's orders have been followed to the letter," Saul said. "The planet –" He clenched his teeth together until his jaw locked, obviously causing him pain. "The system is a wasteland," he said quickly. "Any survivors will be unarmed, likely wounded, and easily subdued. The majority is dead. The planet is ours. A great victory for your empire, my Lord."

I wanted to scream until my lungs could no longer bear it, but another voice spoke for me. It was... _colder_. Fierce as a wild nexu, determined as a stubborn bantha, but as wild and untamable and unreadable as the Force itself.

Revan spoke, her tone almost, but not quite kind: "I did not order an attack on Telos, Karath."

Saul swallowed. "I was merely obeying orders, my Lord."

"The order to attack did not come from me," Revan growled.

"I was only obeying orders," Saul said, and his eyes burned hotter. "I have proved my worth to you. I gave you the Republic departure codes. I have razed this world, and I am sure you are aware; Carth's family is down there."

"Onasi? The decorated war hero?"

"Yes." Saul stared out the viewport. "I was something of a mentor to him."

There was a brief silence. I fought to find my voice. It still wouldn't come. If I could feel my heart, I was sure it would be hammering like a machine.

_Where is Revan?_

Her voice went on, "Do not resist your anger, Commander Karath. It is a weapon. My apprentice is no fool. He was wise to send you here. Your rage... it is powerful. You have proven today that you are prepared to use it, even at great personal cost. You have risen. Such is the calling of the Sith."

At that, Saul's expression reorganized into the empty mask. "Thank you, my Lord. I am proud to serve your Empire."

"As you should be," Revan replied, her tone a shade darker than before, her voice harder. "Do not squander this opportunity, and you may rise to accomplish greater things than the Republic has ever dreamed of."

The eyes I was seeing through – eyes that were not my eyes – drifted to look out the window at the smoking shell that used to be Telos.

"Carry on, Karath," Revan said dismissively. "Don't disappoint me."

Saul answered, "Yes, my Lord."

I wanted to run Revan through with my lightsaber. But my eyes still wouldn't look away from the viewport. Suddenly, I noticed an image in the transparisteel. No, a reflection. _My _reflection?

But it was –

It was –

Impossible.

I saw a dark cloak, elegant and expensive. But it was the robe of a warrior, complete with a ribbed chest plate, and small touches of crimson for effect. Wearing the cloak, the figure in the reflection – it was a stoic legendary figure, tall and proud. Visionary.

A hand not my own – but why did it look like mine? – reached up to trace the smooth lines of a mask. No, not simply a mask: it was Revan's signature Mandalorian helmet. The hand not my own began to tremble like that of a frightened child. Its twin reached up to remove Revan's mask.

My eyes were still gazing fixedly, distantly on my reflection as the helmet slid off, exposing the face inside.

It was the face of a courageous crusader, facing down unbeatable odds without fear. It was the face of a woman with her destiny laid out before her like an inscrutably detailed tapestry, fashioned by the Fates themselves, glittering in all its dark, golden elegance. It was the face of a rebellious warrior with an uncanny talent for making others see things her way – and with the unrivaled power to put an end to those who disagreed.

It was the face of Darth Revan, the Dark Lord of the Sith.

It was also my face.

"My Lord?" called Saul Karath, from somewhere far away. "Is something wrong? Are you alright?"

I finally opened my mouth and screamed.


	2. Reflections

– and I jerked to a sitting position, bashing my head on the low ceiling of my bunk in the crew quarters on the _Ebon Hawk_.

My breathing was jagged, anguished, as though I were recovering from an intense electric shock. My erratic heart was pounding violently, like a crazed alarm blare, echoing in my ears. Cool sweat drenched my skin; already, my Jedi robe was soaked. My hands were still shaking.

My whole body was shaking.

I tossed the too-thin bed sheet of Dramassian shimmersilk to the floor and carefully stood up, my head still reeling from the sound of my imaginary scream. Sleep gradually fell away, the dizzying blur around my mind receding. The equally hellish reality it left behind crushed me like a blow to the ribs.

Focusing on the inhale-exhale pattern of my breathing, I lifted one hand towards my head. Invaluable relief washed over me like cold water when I felt human flesh against my palm, and not an expressionless Mandalorian helmet. I traced the structure of my face with my fingers, almost unwilling to believe it was me. My skin was icy to the touch. I always turned down the ship's heating system at night, but I'd never shivered this badly.

A layer of frost seemed to cover me. Inside and out.

I glanced around in the dimly-lit room, attempting to shake the last of my terror away. I was awake. I needed to cut this out already. Listening to the soft, even cadences of my allies' breathing, I scanned their faces in turn.

Zaalbar was snoring, grunting odd Wookiee noises every now and then that I judged to be contented Wookiee noises. Mission came next. She had been out cold before any of us, exhausted from all the chaos of our narrow escape from the _Leviathan_. She was just a kid. Sometimes I thought it unfair that she should have to face these realities of war at such a young age – realities that could leave grown men scarred.

After Mission came Canderous. He looked gruff, almost angry. Even in his sleep. I had to wonder if the guy even had a heart.

In the next bunk lay Carth. He was the mercenary's polar opposite. Awake, Carth was fiercely focused, defensive, trying to juggle a web of concerns about everything that could possibly go wrong – but asleep, he was the picture of perfect peace. The gentle rise and fall of his shirtless chest somehow calmed me.

I wondered what he dreamed of that alleviated his pain. Dustil, perhaps. Or his long-lost wife, Morgana.

Maybe he dreamed about... me?

Oh, I was such a fool. My ridiculous fascination with Carth Onasi must be terribly unhealthy. I reluctantly tore myself away from watching him sleep.

After Carth came Jolee. The old man was usually asleep not long after Mission, not that I could blame him. The recent events had drained us all, even feisty, ferocious Juhani, who had lately seemed to sleepwalk through the day, gratefully collapsing into her bunk when night fell. She was asleep in the bed after Jolee's.

Unfortunately, I couldn't keep my eyes from traveling over to the one last empty bunk where Bastila should have been.

She was supposed to protect me from the Dark Side, to guard me from myself. We had a _bond_, a friendship unlike any friendship I had ever had. Wherever she was – if she was still alive – I wondered if she was having nightmares of her own shadow. Or maybe she was already living the nightmare. Maybe Malak had broken her. After all, he was good at torture, as I'd learned aboard the _Leviathan._

Hey, I'd probably taught him how. He was _my _apprentice.

But if Bastila had actually fallen, wouldn't I have sensed it? I found myself wondering, tossing theories around in my head. Another thought, even blacker than the first, seized hold of me. Worse yet, if _I _fell... would it be enough to finally destroy her? Would our bond be our downfall?

What a twist _that _would make. Darth Revan and Bastila Shan, closer than sisters – shattering the Republic they lived to preserve. Betraying everyone's trust.

I could only imagine what Carth would do if I confirmed his worst doubts, if I made his most heinous fears manifest. It would be enough to ruin him. Maybe he would just _give up _and take a blaster pistol to his own head –

My fists clenched and my throat clenched and my heart clenched and I couldn't breathe.

I'd never betray Carth.

I'd never become the Dark Lord of the Sith.

I'd never let go of the hope inside me. The Dark Side could threaten me, and torture me, and coax me, and deceive me, and twist me, and haunt me, and hunt me, and use me, and push me, and abuse me, and control me – but I would _not _stop fighting.

Not. Ever.

I'd never let Revan win.

A low, unconscious moan from Zaalbar interrupted my thought process. I felt an abrupt pang of anger at his having spoiled my moment of resolve – but in the same second, I identified that anger as part of Revan, and I tried to crush it down beneath my heel. But Revan snarled and drew her crimson lightsaber and rammed her white-hot fury down my throat. A million ways to justify myself crawled through my mental defenses.

Was I so easily broken? A grunt from a sleeping Wookiee – and I'd already relinquished self-control. I was pathetic.

Sighing, I realized that I'd been standing beside my bunk for who-knew-how-long. I promptly walked out of the crew quarters and migrated to the cockpit of the _Ebon Hawk_, leaving the lights off, so as not to disturb my allies.

But I learned the hard way that Revan was not confined to my bunk.

After at least ten minutes of trying to compose myself for meditation, I acknowledged that "emptying my mind" was not going to work, even with no visible distractions to speak of, and the only illumination being the dim, synthetic glow of the electronics scattered about the cockpit.

What a stupid little girl I was, thinking I could run and hide. I wasn't alone. Never alone.

Silence magnified the voice of Revan.

I leaned down and rested my head upon the computer console in defeat. "Please, Living Force," I whispered, a quiet plea in the choking darkness. "I can't _take it _anymore."

The familiar silence was a merciless reply.

Then I heard quick, nervous footfalls in the hallway. I didn't have to lift my head off of the computer to know that it was Carth.

**A/N: **Okay, I have one chapter left of this to publish, but I don't have to time to complete it tonight. If you liked this so far, _please review_. Reviews are a huge deal to me. They're why I post on Fan Fiction, and if you would please leave feedback – even constructive criticism – you might make my day. But no flames. Or I'll report you to this site's administrators. I don't have time for pathetic online bullying. If you have anything but flames to say, please say it. It means a lot to me.


	3. Identity

The panicked cadence of Carth Onasi's footsteps slowed to a brisk walk as he neared the entrance to the cockpit. I heard him come to a sharp halt on the threshold, struggling to catch his breath. It took a him second before he recovered his voice.

"Hey," Carth said as he walked towards me. He flicked the lights on, banishing the long shadows that the navigation panel and control panel sent sprawling up the walls.

"Hey," I managed dryly, turning just enough to get a look at him. His mouth was set in a grave line, his skin was unnervingly pallid, and the light was gone from his eyes, stolen by exhaustion.

A nightmare was an implausible explanation; he'd been resting peacefully only minutes ago, cocooned in the shallow farce of sleep. Either he had heard me leave the crew quarters, or he had drifted into the twilight between sleeping and waking, aware enough of his surroundings to deduce that I had dissappeared. Whatever the cause of his sudden awakening, he looked terrible.

I leaned back in my seat, closed my eyes, and sighed. "Go back to sleep, Onasi."

He shook his head. "I - I really hope you realize what you've been putting us through these past few days," he spluttered. There was a note of dull irritation in his tone, but it belied distinct, cutting pain that shot across his face. "Your mood swings are off the charts, I have no idea what is going on in your head at any given moment, and frankly, you're driving me insane. You can't just dissapear in the middle of the night without expecting me to panic."

I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You panicked?"

"Yes." He sighed. "Damn it, of course I panicked!"

I looked away from him, not wanting to meet his eyes. "I'm serious. Go back to sleep."

"I'm not going anywhere until you explain this to me," Carth snapped. "I can't stand being left on the outside to just watch in silence while you tear yourself apart. I am trying so hard to figure you out, and everytime I think I've got it, you start acting like - like I can't even explain it. You dissappear inside yourself. You are making no sense to me whatsoever, and I swear, I'm not just going to stand back and watch you do this to yourself."

I rolled my eyes. "Go ahead," I said, with thick sarcasm. "Interrogate me."

Carth took a deep breath. He finally stepped forward and sat down adjacent to me, in the co-pilot's seat. For a minute, neither of us said anything. We just stared at each other, and I wondered how haunted I must look. It would be useless to lie to him. I'd been having these dreams for nearly a week, every night. He must know the signs by now. I must look awful.

Carth sighed. "Just... talk to me, okay? I am so damned tired of arguing with you. I can't stand seeing you like this."

I stared blankly at the floor. "Like what?"

"Like you're completely shut down."

I swallowed hard. "I'm fine, Carth."

"No, you're not," he insisted. "I've seen you when you're fine, and this is _not _fine."

I glared at him. "You can't expect me to act like I'm okay."

"So you're not okay?" he pressed.

"Oh my gosh. Why can't you just _shut up_, Carth?" I growled, stiffening, sitting up straighter in my seat. My heart clenched inside of my chest, and my hands balled into fists at my sides. "I have a lot of things to sort through, okay? I'm confused. Every move I make, I'm running into another dead end, and I... I need time to think."

"Okay, fine, okay," Carth stammered, raising one hand to placate me. "You can take as much time to think as you want, but, for crying out loud, why are you wide awake at three o'clock in the morning?"

"I should be asking you the same question," I answered wearily.

Carth leaned forward in his chair so that we were eye to eye, his gaze intense and searching, his eyes staring directly into my own. He took a sharp breath. "I want you to talk to me, that's all," he said, a deadly seriousness in his stone that somehow stung. He paused for a moment, considering his words, and then, finally, "It was another vision, wasn't it?" he admitted. "You might as well spit it out."

I lifted my head and stared out the window at the sprinkling of stars, letting myself get lost in the dark void. I wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

I sighed and closed my eyes.

Images of Telos IV - tongues of scarlet flame licking at the jagged ruins of a thousand homes, hotels, hospitals, stores - men and women and children screaming, pushing others aside, frantically weaving through rubble and fire and bodies - Sith spacecraft sending wave after wave of blood-red blasterfire raining down on the innocent world - danced behind my eyelids.

"Drop it, Carth," I breathed. "It was only a dream."

He ignored me. "A dream about what?"

_A dream about Revan, _I thought, but then I had to revise it to _a dream about me, _and that felt so sickening inside, I almost wanted to throw up. Something flared inside of my chest. Something snapped. I rose sharply out of my chair and to my feet, my cheeks flushed with heat.

"It was only a dream, Carth!" I shouted, and my voice was poison – was venom – was black fire and boiling water and raw rage, all at the same time. It wasn't even my voice.

It was Revan's voice.

"Only a dream," I repeated quickly, as if speaking the words could dispel the haunting fear knotted between my ribs. Heat shot down my spine, and my cheeks burned hotter. "Only a dream, nothing more."

"Then why are you so - "

"Save it, Carth!" I shouted, and the blackness in my voice startled even myself. I should bite my tongue. I should stop talking now before I said something that really did it, something that would finally drive Carth Onasi away for good -

Too late. The words were already flying out of my mouth.

"I don't want you to talk to me. I don't want you to waste your night here trying to convince me that everything is fine, because it isn't, it never has been, and it isn't suddenly going to be. I can't take one more _second _of you acting like you can _fix me_... There's nothing wrong with me. I am myself. It isn't changing."

"So you're having an identity crisis?" Carth retorted.

I bit my lip. "I am _not _the woman that bombed your planet. I am not a _Sith Lord_."

"So this _is_ about the dreams," Carth said, rising to his feet. "What was it this time?"

"I'm so sick of everyone insisting I tell them my dreams," I snarled, glowering at him. "Why can't everyone just _shut up_ around here? Canderous acts like I turned into a god overnight. HK-47 thinks I'm going to morph into some kind of demented assassin. Jolee and Juhani talk to me like I'm a wild rancor and I might attack them. And she might act like she doesn't give a crap, but I hear Mission crying into her pillow, every night, when she thinks I'm not looking - because she's afraid she's losing me!"

_"Is_ she losing you?" Carth challenged.

I turned away from him, unable to meet his eyes. I wanted to snap back at him, but I knew I was running out of decent comebacks. My throat hurt. "Didn't I just tell you to shut up, Onasi?"

"Damn it!" Carth yelled. "I'm just trying to help you, but you're supposed to ask the questions, is that it?" He swore bitterly under his breath again, collapsing back into the co-pilot's seat. His eyes seemed to glaze over, an empty, cold serenity turning his expression into ice. "I never get told anything, damn it," he sighed.

The hopelessness of my misdirected anger abruptly overwhelmed me, and I collapsed back down into my chair, adjacent to him (but still unable to look at him,) my hands balled into defiant fists. "Oh, Carth, I'm so sorry. I just can't _take this _anymore…"

"So it's my fault! I'm bothering you," Carth retorted, and he stood up. "It's my fault. Hell, everything's _always _my fault –"

Now I was officially angry with him. "I never _said that_!"

"Then what _did _you say?"

I jerked back up to a standing position again, eye-to-eye with him. This was getting out of hand. "Must you speak to me like that?"

"Like _what_?" Carth growled.

"Like you are right now."

He chuckled. "How would you prefer that I speak to you?"

"A bit less hostile, maybe," I suggested, matching his sarcasm with my own.

"So _I'm _hostile?" he said, his voice dropping an octave. "I've heard it all now."

"And sarcastic," I added indignantly.

"And you're just a civil young woman!"

"There you go again."

"Oh, just damn it all!" Carth made a fist and punched the wall with such force; his knuckles left a shallow dent. He turned and glowered at me with a stone gaze for a split second. Then he went straight for the door.

I stood there paralyzed, biting my lip on a sharp retort. I'd done enough damage already. I was in over my head again. After all this, I was just going to drive everyone I loved away.

"Carth, I…"

He was already in the doorway, but he went stock-still, frozen on the threshold. The muscles in his arms tensed as he clenched both his hands into fists at his sides.

"Listen to me," I stammered. "I care about you. Maybe more than care about you. I don't know anymore. I don't know what' s me and what's.. . something else. But I absolutely know that I can't afford to lose you, not now, not after all we've been through together. I need you, Carth. You can't just –"

"I can't just what?" He turned to face me, incensed. He stared at me with a fierce gaze, a distant gaze – like he'd never seen me before. "You never tell me anything anymore," he spluttered. "You told me you were my friend, and I believed you. That was my first mistake. I should never have trusted you, I should never have cared about you as anything but a fellow soldier, and look what I've done to us."

"You're wrong," I said, and the power in my voice surprised even myself. "This isn't your fault, Carth. I care about you. I trust you. It's just – I can't –"

"You can't ever tell me what's _really_ going on!" Carth shouted, raising one fist into the air. "You get a private meeting with the Council, and they kick me out of the room. You have some kind of bizarre dream-bond with Bastila, and you tell me nothing. You are the key to discovering an ancient Star Forge and ending this war, and you tell me nothing. You killed my _wife,_ you killed my _son…_ you destroyed my _life_! And you expect me to believe that you _care _about me?"

I shook my head. "I can't believe what I'm hearing," I said, but the words came out choked, strangled in the back of my throat. I swallowed hard. "I care about you. You know that."

Carth looked right at me, like he could see into my soul. "Do I?"

I gasped for air. "I _care about you_," I said, my voice betraying the honest agony welling up in my chest.

Carth didn't answer.

The hurricane inside my mind was making my head reel.

I remembered every precious snapshot of my adventures with Carth in vivid detail - every color distinct, every sensation so clear. The first time I looked into Carth's eyes, me having just revived from our crash landing on Taris. The time Carth bludgeoned a Mandalorian raider with a blaster butt to the back of the head, knocking him to the dirt of the Dantooine plains. The time Carth told me the story of the siege of Telos, how he held his wife's trembling hand as the color in her face drained away. The time Carth swore at a Jawa that was bothering me on Tatooine, and the little thing ran for its life. The time Carth crushed me to him with all his strength, ignoring my unkempt hair and sweaty Jedi robe, when I emerged, intact, from my underwater mission on Manaan.

I couldn't think straight, but somehow, I knew now, and I didn't know why or how or what it would mean, but the words came out of my mouth before I could think them through.

"I love you," I said. All the desperate, long-denied, long-supressed passion seized me, and for a moment, I imagined how my life would change, if I had to go on without him – no one to talk to on lonely nights, no one with scars to show that he'd knew where I'd been, no one to tell me that he knew I was more than a monster – and I was so afraid and angry and lost inside that shadow of what could have been, I repeated a second time, "I love you."

I closed the distance between us in only a few lengthy strides, and then one of my hands was on his shoulder, and the other was gripping his arm with hopeful strength, and I so needed him to just turn around and look into my eyes, and I would know, only then I would know, _I am not finished living yet_.

But he didn't look at me.

He shook his arm so fiercely, I lost my hold on it, and he wheeled around with such a start that my other hand was thrown away from his shoulder, and he stared at the floor. His eyes were on fire.

His next words worse than taking a vibroblade to my throat.

"That's enough, Revan."

My teeth dug into my lip, and blood began to trickle freely out, tasting bitterly like rust and salt. My whole body went rigid, but I felt completely numb, isolated inside a prison of my own making, distantly watching jagged shards of shattered dreams rain down in front of me. My gut went hollow. My heart sank down into the empty space. My jaw slid back as I gritted my teeth together.

I stared at him.

I said, "I'm not Revan."

Carth lifted his head, and now he was glaring at me, the way he'd glared at Darth Malak on the _Leviathan_, the way he'd glared at the Sand People on Tatooine, the way he'd glared at the Sith guards on Taris. But never at me. He had never glared at me like this.

He asked, "Who are you, then?"

My vision misted over.

Carth wasn't finished yet. "Who _are _you," he repeated, "if you're not Revan?"

The mist became a thick pool. I closed my eyes.

"Answer me, Revan!" Carth snarled.

I swallowed. My jaw unclenched. I opened my eyes, staring straight ahead into nothingness. When I spoke again, my voice was not Revan's, but it was not my own. It was too broken.

Carth raged, "Who _are _you?"

And I said, "I don't know."

All the power went out of me with the words. All the secrets and regrets welled up, tightness in my throat and lungs, and I couldn't breathe. Things I'd never known, worlds I'd destroyed, people I'd betrayed, civilians I'd murdered, lies I'd believed… Stab after stab, knife after knife embedded in my soul, and I found myself backing away like someone had punched me. I collapsed back into the pilot's seat, my heart racing, a physical weight of crippling emotion crushing me like a durasteel fist ground into my back.

I buried my head in my hands. Tears flowed relentlessly, even as I uselessly resisted them.

"I _hate me, _Carth," I sobbed – racking, convulsive sobs that shuddered through my whole body. "I _hate _me."

Several seconds passed without a sound.

I gasped for air. "Look at what I've _done_!" I choked on the words; every confession strangled me, every truth clawed out my ragged, bleeding heart for him to see it – but I couldn't hide it, couldn't change one detail of it, and it burned me. It all burned me. I wanted me to burn.

"_I _built the Sith Empire," I said. "_I _trained Malak. _I _killed your _family_!"

I lifted my head, my world blurring like a sick hallucination, my eyes stinging.

"Bastila should have _killed me _while she had the chance!" I spat. "I'm dead inside. I don't even know myself anymore. I _initiated _Saul Karath, I made him into that _animal_, and do you know what he called me?" I said, and I breathed hard. "The Dark Lord. Darth Revan."

Carth's hand caught me by the shoulder.

I wouldn't look at him. "Don't lie to me," I whimpered. "I'm sick of it. I don't need you to pretend that you –"

"I'm not pretending," he said. "Look at me."

I couldn't ignore him. It hurt too much. I looked at him, and he didn't look angry anymore. Just wounded. And there was something intimate in his eyes, like he'd been blind all his life, and my face was the first thing he'd ever set eyes on.

His hand gently moved to the back of my neck, warm against my icy skin. I felt warm all over, all of a sudden; some strange heat coursing through my blood. "Look at me, and answer me," he said. "Who are you _now_?"

I glared at him like he'd glared at me. "No one."

"I don't believe that," he sighed. "You know I've never believed that, I'm just so confused, damn it!" His hand moved from my neck to clasp mine with urgency. "Listen to me. I trust you. I don't why or how, and it's probably the stupidest thing I'll ever say in my damned life, but I trust you."

"That's because you're a good person," I stammered. "But I've always been Revan. When I killed that gang of drunks on Taris. When I threatened to slaughter every Sith on Manaan. When I tricked that shopkeeper on Tatooine into selling HK-47 for practically nothing."

I sighed. Instead of heat, chills began to radiate out like cold tentacles from the base of my spine. "It was always _someone else _who did those things, Carth, and now… she has a name." I swallowed. "Revan," I said. "Revan."

**A/N: **More to come! Please review! I love you guys! This ended up expanding _massively _from my rough draft, so I'll have a fourth chapter in store, after all. Again, please leave feedback (but no flames.) I apologize for any typing errors. I'm having a blast characterizing the RevanXCarth relationship, so hopefully you are enjoying reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.

For those of you who may have favorited and/or subscribed, but not reviewed - if you would take five minutes (less!) to leave me feedback, I'd really appreciate it. I can't force you... but it would mean a lot.

This is the first fanfic I've ever written that had curse words in it (namely "damn" and "hell",) but it's because that's how Carth talks in the KOTOR game - I had to make it realistic. I'm a Christian myself and I don't use those words (I find them offensive) but for Carth, they're a way of speaking. I don't like cursing, but heck, that's Carth. I roll with it.

May the Force be with you!


	4. Redemption

Carth tightened his hold on my hand, and I started losing feeling in the ends of my fingers. I wouldn't look at him. I _couldn't _look at him. Shame at what I'd become – no, what I'd _always been_ – made my stomach roil, and I stared detachedly into space, swallowing hard.

"Stop it," Carth whispered.

I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to hurt him as much as he hurt me. As much as _I _hurt me.

"Please," Carth whispered, "just stop it."

I hated him. I hated _me_.

Jedi were not supposed to hate.

Sith hated. _Revan_ hated, a black hate that consumed world upon world, life upon life, corpse after pallid corpse added to the heap of murders –

I clenched my teeth.

Was this all I was? All I would become? All I had ever been?

_Hate_.

Pure, feral hate, seared like a brand into my very identity – a white-hot sword that burned even the hands that wielded it.

"_What_, Carth?" I growled, but my voice broke.

"Stop hiding from me," Carth said. "Stop letting yourself believe you are some kind of traitor. You are still my friend, and that is never going to change."

I looked him straight in the face. "_Liar_."

"I am being damned straight with you," Carth countered. "I _know _there's good in you, whatever else you are. You're still _you_. If Revan is really part of you, I believe you can change that. You're still a Republic soldier at heart, you're still a Jedi, you're still – you've always been –" Carth inhaled sharply. "I am so damned _stupid_, blast it!"

I shook my head stiffly. "Just say whatever you're going to say, Carth."

Carth took a deep breath.

"You are still the woman I love," he said.

"What?" I snapped, jerking my head around to stare at him, wide-eyed. "_What_?"

And I prayed he wouldn't answer. I prayed that if he _did _answer, it would be to bite back his words.

"I've been afraid to admit it," Carth went on. "I've tried to convince myself otherwise, but frankly, I can't do it anymore. I've always loved you. I still do. It's _Revan _that killed my family, it's _Revan _that razed Telos, and – and –"

He leaned closer to me, moving up to the very edge of his seat, and he reached for my hand, and I was too stunned to pull away as his fingers gently intertwined with my own. All the knotted insecurity and fear inside of me crumbled as he tightly squeezed my hand, a tender reassurance that nothing had changed, that I was still me, that we were still us, and there was still some kind of messed up, twisted, wild chance at _us _–

I couldn't speak. I just stared into his warm eyes, and all I saw in those eyes was years of open wounds screaming for a long-dead hope to spring to life.

Carth swallowed.

"You're. Not. Her. I can see something inside of you, this fire that I've been missing for years – and I know this doesn't make any sense, and it is absolutely stupid of me to expect you to possibly understand, and if you told me to get the hell out of your life, I would get that, but I –"

"I can't do this," I gasped. "_You_ can't do this." I yanked my hand from his, my cheeks flushing with fresh heat. "I'll hurt you more than I already have. I'll destroy me. I'll destroy _us_, like I always have. I'm living a complete _lie, _Carth, and I'm afraid I'm going to _break _–"

"I knew it," Carth interrupted, one hand raised as if to ward off a blow, the simple acceptance in his voice worse than a scream. "You couldn't possibly feel the same way, Jedi or Sith, whoever or _whatever _you are – I can't expect you to understand." He sighed. "I'll drop it, okay?"

"Stop, Carth," I tried to say, but I felt something wet dripping down my face. I was crying now. Crap. I was crying. I bit my lip. "Just _stop_..."

"Go on." Carth looked away. "I've screwed the hell up, I know. So go ahead. Yell at me. You can even swear, if you like."

"Damn it, Carth!" I punched my chair as hard as I could, and my knuckles stung. I pulled sharply away, shaking the pain out of my wrist. "_Damn it_! Carth, you are _impossible _to argue with, you know that?"

Agony shot across Carth's face, another blade slicing across my broken, ripped, mutilated soul.

"I'm sorry," Carth said reflexively. "I should never have said anything, I know. I'm sorry." He raised both his hands, as if in surrender. "You know, just forget it. Pretend I never said anything."

"It's not you, Carth, it's not _you_..." I choked on tears. "It's _me._ It's all _me."_

"There is _nothing _wrong with you," Carth said. "It's _me,_ damn it! Look what I've done to you," he insisted, gesturing to my tear-streaked face. He rose out of his chair. "I'm... going back to sleep, okay? I'm sorry. I'm messing everything up. Just forget this ever happened."

I half-jumped from my seat, grasping his arm more fiercely than I had intended. He froze with a start, turning to face me.

"She's not dead," I burst out.

My heartbeat quickened, my breathing accelerated – and then the words formed of their own accord.

"I'm remembering more, seeing things, having memory flashes, visions, nightmares... hearing her voice every time I close my eyes..." I took a sharp breath, on the edge of hysteria by now. "I _hate it_! And it's not you, it's never been you, it's always been _me _–"

I was born for this, it seemed. Devastation and reform, devastation and reform. Destroying everything I loved, and then weeping over the bodies.

Not evil enough to hold the galaxy in my icy death-grip. Not holy enough to redeem the lost, wandering part of my soul.

I was an outsider. A pariah. An exile.

My very life, the bane of the galaxy – my very existence, my fallen justice, my hollow shell of a self, was blight upon the universe. Everything I touched, every shadow of a child's dream I pursued, always turned on me. Fantasies ran like sand through my fists. Reality, impossibly cold and hard, hit me head-on like a runaway train.

I would never get anywhere. I was caught in the push-and-pull, a victim of the war inside, tugged between Light and Dark, Dark and Light, all powers failing me as I fell into the gaping abyss that was nothing and no one.

I was a slave to the in-between.

I swallowed hard, my voice half-strangled by tears. I glowered at Carth, and I waited for him to inevitably shove me away, to tell me how he could never trust me, how he could never trust anyone, how all I'd ever done was re-open the countless scars he'd been trying to heal.

"I _hate me_," I said.

Carth looked me straight in the face. His eyes filled with something very raw, and so terribly real, and so dead honest, I flinched away from him when he spoke.

"Then you're not Revan."

I dropped his arm. I backed away several paces, and I stared at him. Words wouldn't come.

"You're changed," Carth said. "You reformed Kashyyyk, you rescued Manaan, you made peace with the Sand People on Tatooine... You've risked your life for _me_, for _Bastila_, and for everyone else on this ship. Revan would _never _do that."

My head reeled blindly, a mental tornado tearing me apart from the inside out.

I collapsed back into the pilot's seat, burying my head in my hands. Everything hurt. My muscles, my head, my _soul – _

I was too numb to cry now. I froze up inside. I closed my eyes, swimming in my own darkness.

I blinked once, twice, but the image before me would not fade.

Behind my closed eyelids, all I saw was an expressionless Mandalorian mask. And I was so afraid to take it off, so afraid to look at what lied within – a web of scars, of wounds still raw and bleeding, of calloused skin afraid to feel again.

"Don't," Carth pleaded.

He walked forward, taking the seat beside mine. He didn't have to reach for my hand this time. I reached for his, knotting our fingers together, clutching his hand as tightly as I dared. I kept my eyes closed. If I opened them, if I saw what I was doing, I'd pull away from him again.

"Don't hate yourself," Carth said.

I bit my lip, forcing myself to open my eyes so that I could stare him down. "_You _hate me."

He chuckled. "What are you talking about?" he laughed, his mouth curving into that wry, sarcastic smile I was growing to love. "I hate Malak, and Saul, and the Sith, and the war, but I could never hate you. Believe me, I tried." He sighed. "I thought... that I could hate you. I thought I already did, and I _wanted to, _but –"

I gave his hand a squeeze. "I understand."

"I knew you would," Carth murmured distantly. "You always have."

There was a lengthy silence.

Carth stood up. "Thank you. For understanding." He turned away. "Goodnight. We both need our sleep," he said, and moved towards the door.

I was out of my chair before he reached the threshold. He turned to face me, startled, and I caught his hand again, and I clutched it even tighter. I leaned forward, resting the palm of my free hand against his bare chest, and I so expected him to pull away, almost _wanted _him to pull away, because this was a dream, because he could not love me, because I did not deserve to be loved anymore.

But Carth didn't pull away.

I looked at him, at all the pure honesty on his face, and I felt the tears start again. Reassured now, but craving final assurance, I released the hand that I was holding – I reached up towards his face, resting my hand on the back of his neck, sliding it up, entwining my fingers with his soft hair, and still, he did not pull away. I leaned closer to him, and I felt him lean closer to me, felt him pull me closer, felt myself _allow him _to pull me closer, but I had closed my eyes.

And then I was kissing him.

My lips and Carth's lips were moving together, each caress more passionate than the last, and I felt my other hand stretch up to rest against his cheek. All the raw, unsheltered emotion between us, embodied in every kiss – all the pain of our arguments, the joy of our agreements, the peace of our quiet conversations together, now distinct and clear and _real _in this moment, every kiss a promise that _I am not finished living yet._

I don't know how long I was kissing him. Forever and a moment would have felt the same.

I do know that I was the one who finally drew back, short of breath, my heart hammering lightly against my ribs. But I didn't dare release my grip on him – my right hand, entwined in his hair; my left hand, resting against the warm skin of his neck.

"I love you," I whispered, saltwater streaking my hot cheeks.

Carth smiled. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen him smile.

"I always knew," he said.

**...**

**A/N: **The end.

Thanks so much to those of you who have reviewed this. If, by any chance, you've favorited it and/or subscribed to it (but not reviewed,) please do. It means a lot to me.

If you enjoyed this, I have another Star Wars fanfic that takes place during and after Order 66. It's titled Why I Breathe, and it's deep in progress, moving towards its end. It revolves around three Jedi OCs of mine – Padawan Julia Star, Padawan Aaron Earthshaker, and Jedi Knight Kherev Ra'shah – as well as a rogue clone called Thirty-nine – as they attempt to not only survive the chaos, but find meaning in a bleeding world. If you ever get bored, maybe check it out/review? Just saying. Why I Breathe is the largest fanfic project of mine, and feedback on it means more to me than feedback on anything.

P.S. That little blurb about "devastation and reform" was directly inspired by a song of the same title, by the band "Relient K". You should check it out. It's absolutely awesome!

The song that I would actually designate as the overall theme for this story is "Let It Burn" by Red. Look it up if you're in the mood for an epic rock song!

Thanks again for the feedback.

May the Force be with you!


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